Backdraft
by the Zoshi
Summary: implied AkuRoku What else then is TRUE LOVE for, if not to starve and wait for spring? So I'll just sit and wait...


Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts and characters copyright Square Enix and such people. Not me.

A/N:

Song: "Backdraft" by Thrice

Not as good a story as I'd wanted to do for this song, but I can always try again, right?

Something short, and, er, not sweet. I don't usually do the oneshot thing, but sometimes that's what we need.

* * *

Title: Backdraft

Author: theZoshi  
Rating: PG13

Category:

Genre: Angst

May contain: Implications of shounen-ai/boy-love

* * *

The first day is the longest. The emptiness glares from shadowed corners and claws at his eyes, real and unforgiving. He doesn't understand – is it over? Is this the end? Without words he isn't sure what he is to make of the half-empty dresser drawers and cleaned out shelves. There are clothes missing from the closet but none of those missing are his. He sits on the bed and he waits.

-

The phone rings on the second day. He turns his eyes towards it and listens as the machine turns on and starts speaking. He doesn't recognize the voices on the machine's message and he doesn't recognize the voice that speaks to it. It is unimportant and he turns back to staring at the half-empty closet. He can hear his breaths, the apartment is so empty. The phone begins to ring again.

-

He is three days in when the rage hits. Flies are swarming in the kitchen over the untouched roast in the sink. The window is open. He kicks one of the table's legs off and shoves it and sends it tumbling onto the floor. He pulls the glasses and plates off their shelves and sets them crashing to the floor. Glass glitters like diamonds and he picks up the broken table leg and swings it into the refrigerator door and swings it and bashes it until the door is dented and cracked and he is breathing so hard he is choking. Someone is knocking at the apartment door. There are voices. He lays down on the kitchen floor and presses his back down hard until he feels the broken glass cut through his shirt and into his skin. The voices and knocking goes away. He gets up and closes the open window.

-

The phone has been disconnected from the jack. None of the voices on the machine are the one he wants to hear and he doesn't want to make the effort to understand anyone else. He needs words and he is getting none. He is at the front window on the fourth day with his arms crossed on the sill. He is simmering.

-

On day five he tastes smoke and sulfur. His tongue is heavy in his mouth and his throat is dry. He has collected hundreds of matchbooks over the years and he sits himself down across from the front door with them gathered in his lap. He burns the matches, one by one. The fire licks his fingertips and he is getting blisters. The air is stifling but he still breathes. He watches the flames flicker and die.

-

It is a week past. He sits at the edge of the bed and watches spiders crawl their way down from the ceiling. The smoke is flushing them out from their hidden holes. He watches the gray spiral through the air. His matches are coming to an end, but he's captured the smoke with closed doors and windows. He can barely breathe but he enjoys the feeling. There is something like a monster in his chest, waiting for release, but the smoke and the haze keeps it at bay. He can wait.

-

His lips are cracked and his eyes burn. He does not sleep anymore, just listens and waits. What else could he do, for love?

-

The last match burns down to his fingers. His hands are greasy and black and blistered. His back itches and aches where the glass is still embedded in his skin. He breathes the smoke in through his mouth to capture the taste.

-

The door opens. He is sitting in the middle of the front room and he sees the shift in the whorls the smoke has made in the air around him. He stands up and turns around. The fresh air cuts a swathe through the haze and straight towards him. Confused blue eyes meet his as the prodigal partner returns. The fresh air reaches him, and he breathes it in. He smiles as the monster in his chest wakes and grows and expands through him. He steps forward, and the monster roars.

-

_Oh, swing the door wide open_

_Show me your jaded eyes._

_I will turn them red_

_Drunk with vivid flame._


End file.
